What Are Little Girls Made Of?
by Neon Daisies
Summary: What if Tony Stark's recklessness caught up to him sooner rather than later? Brief vignettes exploring each year of Tony's parenthood.
1. i

**Author's Note:** I know. I should be ashamed of myself. Considering all the stories I have in progress, I hardly needed to start another, right? But I've been mulling this concept over for at least a year, and so I like to think that I've got a pretty good grip on it.

What's the concept? What if – long before Tony Stark ever went to Afghanistan to demonstrate the Jericho in a "live arena" – his recklessness led to permanent consequences? This scenario would have no effect on the events of the movie at all, because according to the laws of movie canon, the creation of Tony Stark as Iron Man is due almost entirely to Obadiah Stane's desire to take over Stark Industries. So now I have a whole new set of circumstances to play with, a fresh perspective to explore character.

I'm sure it'll be most fun.

Also, as you might see, I'm playing these off the Pepperony 100 challenge.

**Disclaimer:** if I owned Iron Man or anyone associated with it, I'd probably still write fanfic, but then it wouldn't be fanfic. It'd be canon. Lucky for the Iron Man 'verse I'm on the outside looking in. Credit Stan Lee, Universal, Marvel, and whoever else for intellectual property. Credit Jon Favreau, Mark Fergus & Hawk Ostby, Robert Downey Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow, et al for bringing them to life.

* * *

**Prompt #48 – Shock**

Tony supposed he was a man now.

He felt anything but.

The restaurant was one of the best in town. The room dinner was going to be served in provided complete privacy. The waiters who would eventually be doing the serving were welcome for the additional, unknown service they would be providing…

…at least he didn't think Obie would kill him in what was ostensibly a public private room.

Either the air was hot and unmoving, or it was just him and his visions of doom that made it that way. His tie was much too tight – again, probably on account of doom. Tony tugged at his collar as he secretly envied the ease with which his best friend wore his formal airman's uniform. Then again, Rhodey had no reason to be nervous. He was just here for the moral support…and possibly to stand as the one witness that might save his neck.

"You don't think he's going to attack me or anything, do you?" Tony's nerves manifested themselves in the uneven pitch of his voice. Damnit. Any arguments that he was a man weren't going to be effective if he sounded like a prepubescent kid.

"I doubt it."

Tony wished Rhodey could have worked up a more convincing tone himself.

But then Obie arrived – confident, charming, and as in control of the entire room as he always was – and so Tony lost the opportunity to request one last pep talk. In the shadow of his friend's – his self-designated foster father's – charismatic presence, Tony felt his own confidence take another blow. Which was why – when asked by Obie what this sudden request for a meeting was all about – instead of making the first move in what should have been a carefully choreographed discussion, he blurted out over the canapés –

"I'm going to be a father," his voice cracking unusually high on the first syllable.

Obadiah said nothing. He was settled into his oxblood leather wing chair, glass of merlot in one hand, one eyebrow raised as if the older man – this father figure – were waiting for the punch line of the joke to be told.

"I mean –" the words stumbled drunkenly off his tongue. "I've gotten someone pregnant. I just found out. Yesterday."

Still Obie said nothing. He set down the wine glass, pulled a cigar out of his inner coat pocket. As Tony tried to ignore the sweat starting to bead on his upper lip, he held back the irrational need to comment that cigars were usually saved until after the baby was born. And usually by the father.

Which was going to be him in this scenario.

God…forget about the sweat on his lip. The stuff condensing into droplets on the back of his neck were far more irritating. He wanted desperately to reach back and wipe them away –

"Someone." The word wasn't a question, but Tony provided the required answers nonetheless.

"Eleni. I met her when I was in Paris. She's French. A, um…a French model, to be exact."

Obie nodded slowly. Deliberately blew out a stream of cigar smoke. Carefully rested one ankle on his knee and clamped down on the cigar with his teeth so he could steeple his fingers in front of him. Tony would much rather have been anticipating blows than fighting off the urge to shift in his seat like a guilty child under the force of that gaze.

"A model?"

Tony nodded, trying to hide his misery.

"Well then. She'd probably be agreeable to a…discrete…solution to this situation you accidentally find yourselves in." That indulgent voice became suddenly hard, the only sign that Obie understood this to be something more serious than a child's faux pas. "At least, it'd better be accidental, boy –"

Tony cringed and nodded. "Yes, but –"

"Then all that's left to do is find the right clinic. Not that you can have anything to do with it, of course." With a great sigh Obie leaned forward and rested a heavy hand on Tony's shoulder. "I'm glad you came to me, son. I'll take care of everything."

"I don't think you understand." Tony's voice cracked again. "I'm going to keep it."

Obie's eyebrows slammed down into a tremendous frown. "What do you mean, you're keeping it?"

"The baby." Tony took a deep breath and forced some steel into his spine, because he'd prepared for this, damnit. He was a man now, and men made their own decisions. "I talked with Leni and she agreed that I had just as much right –"

"Tony, you're nineteen. You're a kid yourself still." Obie shifted from comforting to patronizing and more than a little critical in seconds.

"I'll be twenty in three months."

"And in fifteen you'll be CEO of your father's company. But only if everything goes according to plan." It didn't need to be said that children had nothing to do with the plan. "This is your legacy, Tony. This kind of recklessness isn't going to help you."

"I'm not going to kill one legacy in exchange for another." Tony's voice grew heated. "This kid is the only living member of my family that I've got now, accident or not. Aren't you the one who told me that if you're man enough to get a woman pregnant, then you're man enough to deal with the consequences?"

"I said that so you'd remember to always use a condom." Obie's reply is sharp. He snubbed out his cigar in the lead crystal ashtray near his elbow and ran his hands over his bald head. "Fine. If abortion isn't an option you're willing to consider, then we can still take care of this quietly. There are plenty of good boarding schools in Europe, though our first step is going to be a paternity test. We can't be too careful. You – and your net worth – are well known in the circles you run in. This woman could just be after a handout."

"Leni doesn't want any money," Tony mumbled as he slouched back in his chair. Collapsed into it to be honest. He hadn't actually expected to live through this discussion, though clearly the battle wasn't won yet. "She doesn't want anything, actually." Not even any contact with the kid. Tony was going to be the only family this baby was going to have. "She says her career is more important to her."

"At least one of you is thinking clearly." Obadiah was clearly still upset.

"Yeah," Tony said numbly. He traded glances with Rhodey, who might as well have been invisible during the entire discussion.

Somehow he didn't think Obie had really gotten it yet. Tony was planning to involve himself in his child's life far beyond simply writing checks to some outrageously expensive and reclusive Swiss boarding school.

He was going to be a father.


	2. ii

**A/N:** I just want you all to know that this story has made me do something I haven't done in years. No, not update, smart alecks, but OUTLINE. Seriously, I haven't made an outline of a fic since the early 2000's. However, looking at the one I've got now, this fic should be about 22 vignettes long, covering 18 years of Stark family life, culminating in "I am Iron Man" or thereabouts.

And the best news is that I have a clear plan for all but one or two of the vignettes. So there shouldn't be any long lags between updates. In fact, if I don't hear something about a perspective job soon, I'll have more time to write than I really need.

As always, feedback more than welcome.

Enjoy.

* * *

Dazed, Tony Stark raised his cellular phone to his ear. It was an unusual effort; the device was boxy and brick-like, but not terribly heavy. The electronic mimicry of a ringing bell was surprisingly harsh in his ear. He barely gave it any further notice beyond that observation though, anymore more than he gave notice to the time.

When the recorded tone of the answering machine started playing, Tony hung up and dialed again. This time he got through to the military operator at Edward's Air Force Base. Seconds later – once he'd made himself understood through the static – the phone was ringing again. It kept ringing for some times, until it was eventually picked up.

"Lieutenant James Rhodes."

It must have been late in California. Rhodey sounded tired. These were observations made entirely by intellect, without conscious thought; Tony never tore his eyes away from the glass in front of him, and it was the scene behind it that held a majority of his attention. Some things were more important that checking his watch for confirmation of the time.

"This is Lieutenant Rhodes. Hello?"

"Is a green nursery alright for a girl?"

Tony's question was not immediately answered, at least, not by anything other than a heavy sigh.

"Tony, if you're having second thoughts about the nursery, let that decorator you hired deal with it in the morning." When he got no reply, Rhodes sighed again. "Look, I can call you a cab if you need one. Where are you?"

"Marseille."

"France?" Rhodey sounded more alert now.

"Well, if I were in Illinois, I think I'd understand more of the signs."

"What are you doing in…" Rhodey's voice trailed off slowly, until it was overcome by the soft but constant fuzz of static that was on the line.

Tony felt like he was wrapped in that fuzz.

"I thought you said it was going to be a boy."

"That's what I said," Tony confirmed. However, the bassinet he was staring at so intensely through the window held an unmistakably pink blanket and boasted a placard that read "petite fille Stark."

Baby girl Stark…roughly.

"Rhodey, what am I supposed to do with a little girl?" Tony was quite proud that the panic that hid under his mental static fuzz didn't come through in his voice.

"At this age? The same thing you'd do with a boy, I suppose. Just without the hard decisions about whether or not to circumcise the kid."

Neither man spoke for several seconds.

"Damn, talk about cosmic justice, Tony."

"Thanks." Tony took a deep breath for what felt like the first time in hours. "I want you to be her godfather. Honorary uncle. Something." He'd decided early on that he didn't want to deal with godparents, but that was when he'd been under the impression that he was going to have a son. Daughters were another mater entirely, and a new sense of protectiveness started to mingle with the low flush of panic still in his belly.

He wondered how long it'd be before this little pink bundle of blankets that he'd yet to meet, realized that it had a complete putz for a father.

He was going to need all the reinforcements he could get.

"I expected a more prompt reply, Lieutenant Rhodes."

"What about Obadiah?" Rhodey's voice was curiously subdued. As if he were getting choked up or something. Of course, if he was going to be putting Baby Girl Stark on the same podium as his uniform, Tony supposed he could put up with the earnestness. Only the best for his kid, right? Rhodey was definitely the best.

"I'll call him next. I don't think it'll be an issue. So?"

"Not quite what I meant, but yeah. I mean, yes, of course."

"Okay then. I'll talk to you later."

"Wait! What's her name –"

Rhodey was cut off unceremoniously and without an ounce of regret on Tony's part, though not without being heard. As his hand dropped to his side rather mechanically – perhaps spending a good portion of the afternoon in the pub around the block from the hospital hadn't been the best idea – Tony had to ask himself the same question. What _did_ one name a little girl? Eleni hadn't left any instructions; she'd put all the responsibilities in his lap, no pun intended. She'd barely even signed the birth certificate, and she definitely hadn't acknowledged the note Tony had sent up with along with an extravagant bouquet of flowers.

Lilies, with lots of frothy smaller flowers.

Lily wouldn't do at all. It sounded too delicate, and he was already too intimidated without feeling like he'd break the kid.

His kid.

Of course he'd sent flowers. Leni was the mother of his child whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. Tony certainly didn't know how else to thank her, as she wanted nothing from this that she hadn't had the night they'd met. She hadn't wanted anything that was his.

The nurses had noticed him by now – wrinkled trousers, rolled up shirt sleeves, tie unknotted and askew. Rumbled and red-eyed. That was him. Probably the image of every new father.

In this he found something that made him an ordinary man. Not a wunderkind who carried the hopes of a international company on his barely legal shoulders, or an orphan, or a mathematical whiz kid.

He was just an ordinary guy who was starting to realize – really realize – just how much his life was about to change.

He meant to tap lightly on the glass. What happened was that his finger fell heavily against the pane and stayed there. A smiling young woman pulled on a pair of fresh gloves and came forward. She scooped Baby Girl Stark out of her bassinet and brought her right up to the window. Just about all Tony could see was dark matted hair that had a small pink satin bow attached to it somehow, red skin covering a wrinkled little face, and a pursed rosebud of a mouth.

His hand flattened against the glass, half to help support him and half just because he wanted to reach though it and take the pink bundle in what would undoubtedly be clumsy hands.

What kind of name did a guy give his daughter?

The nurse's nametag read "Hannah."

Which was nice. But the baby he was looking at was much to small to be a full Hannah…


	3. Year I

**A/N: **this one was inspired by the line in the video montage at the beginning of the movie, about Tony being the prodigal son returning to run his father's company. As I am attempting to maintain to something like a pre-established timeline, it made sense to add my own little twist to this even.

And Obadiah's point of view is deliciously evil to write from.

* * *

Tony went through a rebellious phase almost immediately, making him a problem that had to be attacked from the right angle. And as he had a large personal stake in SI, knowing exactly what strings to pull with the Stark heir was imperative. Mercy wasn't even a consideration at this point.

The plans that had been laid out years ago – plans involving the use of Tony's name, and his brain, and his talents, all of them so precious as a viable commodity and not truly for any other reason – were suddenly in danger of becoming irrelevant. He turned away from them as certainly as someone would turn away from a dead end road and he started trailblazing a new one, blindly. He moved immediately to California from New York, not because had any intense desire to live in California, but living in LA meant that Rhodes wasn't too far away and the lieutenant so far was the only person not giving him angry lectures about his legacy and responsibilities whenever he showed his face. He started building a house there and bought another one to live in until the one he'd designed was finished. The interim house in Brentwood was bigger than the penthouse he'd been living in, but smaller than the home he was building. The neighborhood was good though, and the floors were all carpeted. All the better for soft little knees, and hands, and heads.

Obadiah put a spin on it of course. He'd had to. The media had picked up on things almost right away, put two and two together, and somehow gotten a sealed birth certificate out of it. Well, not an entire birth certificate, but they knew all they needed to which was that one Anthony Edward Stark was listed as the father of and held custody over one Anna James Stark. It was the kind of news that respectable journalists dug into and the kind that the not-so-respectable journalists had a field day with. A dozen women were interviewed, all claiming to be Anna's mother. Market analysts made doom and gloom predictions about the future of Stark Industries. The Board of Directors was absolutely livid; Obadiah who acted as their go between was just as livid. But then, he'd also been dealing with Tony Stark almost since before the latter could walk, and so knew better than to show it. He advised the Board to move Stark Industries' center of operations to LA – tell the investors that they were going to be able to get more advantageous tax breaks on the West Coast, that being closer to the Silicon Valley suppliers was going to save them money in the long run, say whatever well needed to be said in order to make this work because right now it didn't matter if Tony Stark was a genius or not. What mattered right now was that Tony Stark was a twenty-year-old genius and he had the bit in his teeth. Right now, the survival of Stark Industries relied in part on keeping the relevant Stark happy.

"See this?" One afternoon about a month after most of the financial sector and the military/politico/talking head types had been set on their ears, Obadiah relaxed on a brand new armchair in the family room of the Brentwood house, a copy of _Newsweek_ in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. Tony sat – sprawled – directly across on a similarly new leather couch that was already marked with the kind of stains most babies make. His eyes were closed, emphasizing the dark shadows underneath. When he finally deigned to crack his eyes open, Obadiah waggled the magazine with a sort of beset dignity. "Now you're the Prodigal Son."

Tony focused his eyes on the cover once the magazine stopped moving. "Prodigal means wasteful, not wandering," he muttered, rearranging Anna slightly in the crook of his arm.

"You're splitting hairs, Tony. In this case one is more or less the same as the other." Logic was just about the only thing that didn't set the kid's back up immediately these days, and even then he had an annoying tendency to ignore what he didn't want to hear. "We're talking about keeping several thousand people employed," he continued patiently. "And that's just under the umbrella of Stark Industries. Why don't you use that brain of yours to factor in what the loss of custom from _your_ company is going to do to all our suppliers and distributors."

"Stark Industries isn't going to fold just because I'm not at the head of the company. Everyone would have been just as upset about the appointment of a twenty-one year old CEO."

In anyone without facial hair, that tone would be described as "pouty."

Obadiah took a slow sip of his drink, holding it on his tongue, savoring the smoky tang. The deliberateness of the action helped him control his tone. "No, the media would have been upset, and they'd probably have gotten the common folk out there just as upset. But as neither of those segments of the population have a terrible amount of influence over whether or not the US government seeks contracts with SI, the storm would have blown over. What won't blow over is if the people in New York and Washington – in short, the people who actually _matter_ – start to believe that you're not simply taking a temporary leave of your senses due to stress."

Tony's frown was instantaneous at the mention of his mental state. "I'm not insane, I'm serious. I remember what it was like when I was young, okay? The only reason I saw so much of Dad was because I understood how to build things. If I had needed constant supervision in the shop, I wouldn't have been allowed down there. I want to be more accessible for Anna. I made a commitment to her, Obie. I made a commitment to _myself_ when I gave her my name."

"No one is trying to argue that point. Least of all me." No, he has to remain the good guy, the go-to guy, the understanding ear, the steady shoulder. He also has to stifle the urge to roll his eyes when the kid snorts and starts to look mutinous. "I'm serious, Tony. Your parents would be proud of you for the way you've stepped up." Talking Tony around was in the kid's best interest. He needed someone to guide him. "You've done the Stark name proud. This time."

Tony, who had been relaxing his guard tensed up, startling Anna awake. "What does that mean?" he demanded as he quickly soothed her surprised wails into a sort of unhappy baby whimpering sound.

Obadiah watched this almost second nature reaction carefully, storing the scene away for later review. "You know it was your father's dream to see you take over the company," he said just a little absently. But the words found their target anyway and a glimmer of guilt moved over that fluidly expressive face. "Your father was so thrilled when you were born. You were your parents' miracle, even without your special talents. After you were born, he worked hard to keep the company at the forefront of the industry. You inspired him to pass on the best legacy he could."

Another slow, deliberate sip of Scotch. The words needed time to die in the air, to resonate in the ear. When Tony started shifting uncomfortably on the couch, Obadiah hid a satisfied smile.

"It's time for Anna's bottle," the younger man muttered, levering himself up off the couch. Obadiah followed Tony with his eyes for a few seconds, allowing him to leave to room before slowly following after. In the kitchen, Tony was shaking a bottle of formula with a kind of barely restrained violence.

Excellent.

"Tony, I'm saying all this to you as a friend, okay? Clearly, you're going to do what you think is right. That's a mark of a true man, the guts to stand by your convictions. But now that you've made your parents proud, maybe it's time to think about your daughter."

Tony's head jerked up; he looked absolutely stricken. "I _am_."

Obadiah placed his now empty glass in the sink, and pinned Tony under a steady gaze. Even while he manipulated the father, he couldn't help but notice the differences in the daughter. Where Tony had been a fussy child, needing nearly constant stimulation, Anna appeared happy enough just to be held. It was really too early to tell, of course, but hopefully the daughter easier to manage than the father.

"I don't doubt that you have good intentions, Tony. I know you want the very best for her, but maybe you should consider the possibility that the best for Anna may include a father who lives up to _all_ of his responsibilities. The hard ones along with the familial. Becoming the CEO of Stark Industries will open up opportunities for you that your fortune alone won't be able to. Opportunities you can pass on to her."

That was probably enough for one day. Obadiah straightened up and tugged at his shirtsleeves. "Look, I've already talked to the Board and they're willing to make a few concessions if it means bringing you on board where you belong. So just think about what I've said, and we can talk more tomorrow. You can be a family man and a business man at the same time, and honestly, Stark Industries will start to fade unless you step up like your father always hoped you would." One last turn of the screw to make sure the words stuck. By tomorrow the kid should be in a position to be brought into line. "I'll make reservations for lunch at the West Beach Club."

Dazed, Tony nodded but said, "I'll have to bring Anna."

"That won't be a problem; I'll arrange for a private room. You go ahead and bring her. This does concern her too, after all." Obadiah cupped one hand to the small head covered in downy baby curls. "You're holding the next generation of Stark Industries in your arms, m'boy. The decisions we make in the next few weeks will shape the company you someday leave to her."

Anna James. What a name. It was the kind of thing only Tony would consider.

God save them from any more foolish decisions.

* * *

Tony tugs first at his tie, and then at the collar of his shirt before rolling his shoulders under the expensive Italian silk suit coat. Anna was fussy but he didn't dare pick her up because the last time he'd tried she'd spit up and he'd had to go change his shirt and Obie was already getting antsy to go.

As he watched Julie hoist Anna up and start burping her again, he tucked his hands into his pockets. He was having a hard time remembering why he'd agreed to any of this. Not the hiring of a nanny – that would have had to happen eventually, even if he'd just intended to be a simple engineer. But a CEO? Of a company that was in the process of relocating across the country?

"Tony, it's time. We've got a press conference to get to." Obie came up from behind him and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Com'on. The hardest part will be getting out the door. Everything will get easier after that."

"Why's that?" Tony reluctantly allowed himself to be led out of the nursery. That Anna was starting to calm down was what made it possible.

"Because you're doing the right thing. This is for the best."

Tony nodded, even though he felt a little hollow. Yeah, it was. Obie hadn't steered him wrong yet.


End file.
